


a wandering mind is a dangerous thing

by cyberglow



Category: Senyuu.
Genre: Angst, Gen, dream fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:36:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyberglow/pseuds/cyberglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst part about waking up from a nightmare is realizing your life isn't much better. </p>
<p>Set sometime during vol. 3 when Alba's stuck in a cell</p>
            </blockquote>





	a wandering mind is a dangerous thing

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try and write something dream-based so here u go :-)
> 
> *It's slightly gory but nothing that really merits a warning

Warmth soaks into Alba’s palms as he spreads them in front of the campfire. The flames dance, growing up towards the stars, stretching into spindles of faint orange and shrinking back down again. Alba watches them.

The fire cast eerie shadows on the faces of his traveling companions; Ross to the right, Ruki to the left. The young demon lord is leaning on Ross, sleeping heavily. They are sitting in an uncharacteristic silence, the night air filled only with the dull hum of insects.

“This is, uh, pretty nice.” Alba winces as his voice cracks on the last word.

“We’re in a serious situation, Hero-san. I don’t think you understand how much is on the line here.” Ross leers at Alba. “Unless you think near-death experiences are fun?”

Alba snorts. “Y’know, I think I would take that more seriously if you weren’t the one injuring me most of the time.”

“Ah, that’s where you’re mistaken. I’m just trying to toughen you up for the life of prison you’re destined to lead.”

“Hahaha." Alba's drew the last syllable out, voice dripping with sarcasm. "No, but I meant that being here, as a group of fri- uh, traveling companions; the campfire, night sky, all that… it has a certain charm.” Alba gestures vaguely to the small temporary campsite they had set up.

“Hmm, I guess.” Ross wipes some of Ruki’s drool off his shoulder.

The campfire is larger now, and the heat is almost uncomfortable. Alba stares at it. Into it. He swears he can almost see a hand reaching out- pleading for him to grasp it.

“Hero-san?” Ross is barely visible above the flames now, a faint afterthought in comparison to the enthralling power of the blaze. The fire is still dancing higher and higher, sweat dripping from Alba’s forehead into his eyes. The sweat didn’t burn as it was meant to, but instead just blurred his vision.

The hand reached out of the flame and Alba grabbed onto it, his body consumed by the heat.

It is morning now, the first weak rays of sunlight filtering through the rustling treetops. There is a slight breeze, enough to ruffle the hair of passerby, but Alba didn’t feel the chill. An archaic stone building, possibly a mausoleum, loomed in front of him menacingly, daring him to enter.

“Shion?” A voice echoes out, possibly behind him, possibly in front. A sense of dread creeps into Alba’s mind, his body unable to move. Flashes of violent intentions and gore-filled consequences drift idly through the air, like primed blades carelessly flung. Ribbons of the unavoidable past caress Alba’s arms, legs, torso and he tries to cry out for anyone, something to change. This isn’t him, isn't his past to live again.

He can hear a voice, clearer than the previous but still disembodied, and it sounds startlingly familiar… Ross. “Ah, I see you’re as useless as always.”

Alba feels his feet grow heavy, a thick liquid seeping into his shoes. Still paralyzed, Alba watches in horror as the grass around him gives way to gushing geysers of red. Their seemingly infinite contents pour into the forest, covering the ground in blood. The blood is up to his calves now.

With abject horror, Alba realizes the solid ground beneath him had transformed into a soft, sinking pool. The semi-congealed blood at the bottom grabs hold of his legs and drags him further into the red-black fluid. Thick, winding rivulets of blood creep up the left side of his body, as if gravity was being laboriously reversed.

Encircling his arm and leg and soon covering them completely, the viscous liquid invades Alba’s clothes and close around his flesh with conviction.

Throat raw but unable to do so much as whine, Alba can only open his eyes wider in terror as he realizes the left side of his body is gone.

Suddenly, the semi-solid ground drops out from under Alba and he's completely submerged in maroon fluid in a matter of seconds. Air bubbles push their way out of his mouth, his body crushed by an overwhelming weight, and he swears he can see two pinpricks of light above…

He’s staring at December now, sweat (or is it blood?) dripping into Alba’s eyes. He can feel the coolness of sweat evaporating from his back, spine tingling. Alba can see Ross (Shion?), but he is distant, unattainable, part of another universe. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion, backward.

December’s form flickers into recognizable and unrecognizable figures; black, white, red, green. It settles on this last person, smugness woven into his face and posture. Rchimedes raises a hand in the direction of Ross. His wrist bends a tiny bit, almost imperceptible.

Although Rchimedes is only smiling slightly, Alba can see the restraint in the lines of tension around his mouth; Alba can almost sense the manic grin struggling to break through.

Ruki seems to join Ross; it’s hard to tell from this distance. It feels like hours, days that Alba is glued in the same position, beads of blood-sweat-tears rolling down his face. His friend(s?) is (are) only a silhouette now, fading from his vision. Alba gets an awful, sinking feeling he’s (they’re?) walking away from him willingly.

Finally, Alba’s throat unlocks and a garbled noise bubbles up out of it, a long sob. It almost seems like it’s not coming out of Alba’s throat anymore, but exuding from his skin, echoing in the vast desert. The pain is tangible.

This is a common theme in his nightmares, always. The scenes may shift position or the people may change, but the feeling of being abandoned, completely alone and helpless is stubbornly rooted at the center. Alba sits in defeat as the desert scene slips into _that_ room. It is dark, or rather, there’s a lack of anything, not just light.

Alba knows what he's meant to do. He's supposed to wait. He feels time dragging on, his body catching on the sharp peaks of days, weeks, months but never actually moving. Age chisels deeps wrinkles in his face, weakens his bones and stills his heart.

Alba jolts awake, eyes wide and heart racing. He sits up on his dilapidated bed and stretches his stiff back. Another nightmare. Rubbing his face with his hands, he tries to get rid of dried tear tracks. His cheeks and eyes feel swollen and ache, and oh god, does his chest feel empty.

He hates himself a little bit then, sitting there in a cramped cell trying to hide the fact he’s been crying, hates himself more than he would ever admit. He thinks about his friends (especially Ross), what he's done to find and protect them.

Ross visits, not too often, but enough to make Alba feel like he cares. He usually comes to teach Alba about controlling mana... Maybe it's pure masochism, or maybe loneliness, but he's glad that Ross is there sometimes.

The thoughts of Ross drift into more abstract flashes of emotion, mostly worry, and parts of his dream resurface. Alba wraps his arms around his legs and rests his forehead against his knees. Maybe if he curls up tight enough, he'll be transported to a better time, a better place. He can only wish.


End file.
